I'd Like To Think I Did My Mother A Favor By Walking Away.

This weekend, I opened my inbox and saw an email that bedazzled me:

New Founding Paid Member to N3VLYNNN!

✨Wau! Amazing.✨

The Founding Member subscription is the highest paid tier with a suggested option of $240 year. A new patron has generously expressed how much they value my writing.

I excitedly opened it, only to feel all the joy evacuate my body when I read my mother’s email address.

SIKE!

Not only that, she also filled out an application to purchase a copy of my incredibly rich and personal memoir that is exclusively available by request for select female readers. You know…the one I told her I don’t want her to read.

And she also purchased the Bomber jacket that I designed, years ago—knowing it would never fit her.

Then I checked my spam inbox for my other email address, and I saw that she had written me an email about her soft life and an update about the cats.

So, I received multiple emails in a row, from various parts of my website.

My official Artist website is my online creative home. So, it felt like someone had left me little smiley face notes in all the parts of my home that they had invaded.

That’s Mom’s energy. Giggling and blowing kisses while violating your privacy, moments before transforming into an irate Headmaster. And vice versa.

Horrified, I refunded her all of her money immediately, and blocked her.

I thought I had blocked her months ago, so seeing all these emails came with an extra jolt. It almost felt like a psychic attack.

Now, under normal circumstances, I would be flattered.

In an alternate universe—perhaps the one my Mother lives in—it’s extremely cute that the woman who birthed me signed up as a “Founding Member” of my creation.

Haha yes, Mom. Of course you are!

Hay Gurrrrrrrrllll!

The version of me who lives in that parallel universe is heartwarmed.

But in this reality, I felt exposed and surveilled. My boundaries had been crossed—again.

I don’t want my parents to read work that I wouldn’t otherwise show them myself. But, I also know I cannot control what content they engage with online. In fact, my Father has always bribed his sycophants to spy on me so that he can stay abreast of my whereabouts. I am used to being watched.

However, it is one thing to notice quietly, from afar. It’s another thing to spy, and make your presence known through purchasing exclusive access to someone’s energy...Especially after they have walked away from a relationship with you, telling you to never contact them again.

And that is the thing. My Mother has always conveniently feigned ignorance as to why she has to play these manipulative games to reach me in the first place.

¿Huh? I don’t remember that! It never happened!

…

This is not the first time an estranged family member has become a “supporter” to get my attention, satisfy their nosiness, and read thoughts I am not sharing with them.

A couple of years ago, my sister sent me an apology email, and then immediately became a paid subscriber (with a super sweet message) so that she could read my heartfelt essay about why I walked away from our relationship. She then deleted her whole account a few hours later. We haven’t spoken ever since.

In fact, even before I joined Substack, a couple of abusive exes have showed up in a similar way; being my biggest cheerleader, and offering me donations—right after I expressed discouragement on my public platform.

Get in through that open wound before it closes!

So it’s no coincidence that my Mother lovebombed me, minutes after “liking” my post about coping with exhaustion, sadness, and loneliness.

There is no way she could have known this, but the day she reached out, was a day when I was feeling the most emotionally raw I’d felt in a long time. I was crying in spells, walking around with a lump in my throat, with frayed edges all over my aura.

That’s Mom. Always swooping down and pushing her way in when I am in my weakest, most vulnerable state. She seems to have a freakishly 6th sense about that, which is actually good for a Mother to have—if she doesn’t abuse it.

Because once I finally began to understand who she was, the only time she could ever access me was when I was on my last limb, and when I had no other options.

But despite my tenderness, I am not desperate.

I summoned all of my strength, resourcefulness, and patience to build my foundation for years before I walked away, just so that I could have the privilege of never having to look back.

But to be honest, I still look back sometimes...not so much in the survivalist sense, but because I am still processing such deep loss.

When my Mom received the email for her refund, she responded to it: